Looking Back On Who We Were, What We Had
by ArabellaWarbler
Summary: An insight into Kurt's three flashbacks from Grilled Cheesus—learning to ride a bike, teaching Burt to drink tea and the day of the funeral.
1. It's Just A Bike, Kurt

'_It's just a bike, Kurt_.' Burt assured his son. He leant over a tiny green bicycle, little neon lights attatched to the spokes on both the front and back wheel. He could feel his back straining a little as he leant, but this was Kurt's bike, Kurt's _birthday_ bike, and Kurt was going to learn to ride it.

His son shook his head in distress. 'I'm not setting foot near that _death-trap_!' His high pitched voice squealed, and Burt couldn't help but smile. 'It won't hurt you.' He assured Kurt once again, but his son simply scoffed, his hair bouncing a little as he threw his head back. '_Try telling that to Anthony Rimmer_..' He mumbled.

Burt rolled his eyes. 'That Rimmer kid is a daredevil, _you're smart enough to take care of yourself_.' Kurt chewed nervously at the nail on his right index-finger. 'It's his own fault that he broke his wrist, _and you know it_.' He grinned at his son. He could see the hesitation in Kurt's eyes, the fear that had taken over him ever since his mother had passed away.

There was so much of his wife in Kurt—he had inherited her eyes, her delicate skin colour and _certainly_ her voice, however he had also been lucky enough to gain some of the less physical aspects too, such as her gentle nature and understanding. He was much wiser than other boys of his age, and after everything he had been through, he was strong too. _Strong like her_.

The nine year old boy watched his dad with sad eyes. Burt lowered the bike to the ground, careful not to scratch the paint on the rough tarmac outside their simple house in mainstream Lima. He walked the short distance between himself and his son, and pulled the boy into his arms, clutching him tight to his chest. Kurt nuzzled into his father's figure, breathing heavily into Burt.

'There's nothing to be scared of. Come on,' Burt soothed, as Kurt pulled away, looking him in the eye. 'I'll push you until you get the hang of it.'

Within moments, Kurt was sitting atop the green bike, feet cautiously resting on the pedals. Burt held the back of the bike by the seat, steadying it and allowing his son to find some kind of balance. The boy nodded slightly, a determined expression set upon his face. He had so many fears—both rational and irrational—but he always found a way to conquer them.

'Okay Dad, _I'm ready_.' He whispered softly.

Burt pushed the bike as Kurt began to pedal, and slowly, they made their way down the path from their garage door and out into the quiet road of their street. Kurt pedalled faster, and Burt now had to keep up a steady jog to keep behind the bicycle. Kurt's face broke into a wide smile as he looked back at his dad's beaming face—eyes shining with happiness. The tassles on the handlebars swung a little as they reached the middle of the road, and Burt let go.

'_You can do it_!' He encouraged, and Kurt carried on pedalling, both unable to and unaware of how to stop. It seemed to be the one thing his dad hadn't mentioned.

Burt watched as his son was carried away by the green bike, and when Kurt's little face turned around to grin at him, he clapped his hands in approval and grinned right back. He felt so proud of his son in that moment, for a split second he was going to run into the house and call for his wife to come and see what their son was doing, and then, he caught himself.

At that moment, the front wheel of the bike started to swerve, and Kurt lost control.

'_Dad_!' He cried, as the bike tipped over to the left and he fell, hands landing on the tarmac—_rather them than his face_, Burt thought—and the bike fell onto his right leg. He instantly tried to sit up again as Burt ran over in a frenzy of panic. Kurt was so little, and so delicate, and he was everything to Burt. He'd walk to the ends of the Earth to protect his son.

He hurried across the tarmac to his son and knelt down, cupping Kurt's face in his hand and smoothing his cheek with his thumb. He checked for cuts, scratches and scrapes, but amazingly, there wasn't a mark on him. Kurt wriggled a little in Burt's grip, laughing and assuring his dad that he was fine, still managing to smile despite his failure.

'That's enough for one day.' Burt sighed, but Kurt shook his head.

'_No_!' He cried defiantly. 'No, I want _another go_!' With that, Burt's little son heaved himself up, dragging the bike with him, and repositioned himself on the seat. Face set into a stern expression, he began to pedal, this time without anybody to support him.

He was doing it. Kurt Hummel had _mastered_ the art of bike riding.

He started to giggle with glee and Burt couldn't help but grin as his son began to cycle rings around him, laughing joyfully as he went. Everything about Kurt reminded Burt of his wife, reminded him of the memories they had shared as a family. It had pained Burt to see his son so sad, and now to see him conquering a fear—_it was everything_. And he knew that one day, Kurt would look back on that moment and see just how far they'd gone since that day.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Arabella here (:<strong>_

_**Grilled Cheesus was on today, I cried the whole way through. And seeing as I've been having some writer's block (hence the awfulness that is this fic) I needed to write this to get the stupid fanfic-bunny out of my head. So here it is.**_

_**Reviews appreciated (:  
>Disclaimer - I do not own Glee, nor am I involved in anything related andor affiliated with it's writers, the cast or the crew.**_


	2. That's Not How You Drink Tea, Dad

Kurt straightened his bow-tie as he sat at the little outdoor table, patiently waiting for his father to finish whatever it was he was attempting to fix and join him for their arranged tea-party. Burt had been busy in the garage for the whole of that Saturday, and Kurt was adament that he would put aside half an hour for a pot of _sophisticated_ tea.

The sun was just starting to creep lower in the sky, but it was a warm summer's eve, and would be another two or three hours before it grew cold. Rays of sunlight streaked through the clouds above and down into the garden, and everything seemed to stop for a moment.

As he sat on the tiny chair—a pink lawn chair he remembered his father picking out because it '_matches the garden gnomes_'—he looked around the garden. It wasn't large, but it wasn't small, and it was fairly cluttered. Kurt's green bike rested against the outside wall of their house, a casual dent in the frame where Kurt had run into a mailbox.

One of the neighbors was cutting the grass, and Kurt closed his eyes for a second to breathe in the smell.

When he opened them again, his Dad stood over him, blocking the sunlight. He smiled, though his eyes looked worried. 'You okay, champ?' He patted Kurt on the shoulder and then took a seat opposite him at the table for little people. Everything suddenly seemed miniscule to Burt—the tiny plates and the tea-cups that he could barely hold in his fumbling hands—and he felt like an extremely out of place giant.

There was still a faint grubbiness to his hands, despite washing them several times that day, and Kurt hadn't failed to notice.

'Dad, your hands are _filthy_.' His son raised an eyebrow, although he appeared to be placing tiny balls of plasticene onto a plasticene cupcake, and didn't seem to be paying any attention to Burt's general appearance. Burt laughed, 'Come on then, where's this _world famous tea _you were telling me about?'

Kurt's face lit up. As a ten year old, his world revolved around three things—_Burt, fashion, and tea_, the latter of which being at the top of the list right now. He'd actually taken the trouble to brew a tiny pot of tea for them to share, as well as arranging any cakes he could find into neat little stacks, hoping to impress Burt. Of course, his father was always more interested in eating the cakes that observing them, and had already snapped up a chocolate chip cup-cake.

He swiped it out of his father's hands, and instead passed him over the little plasticene cake. Burt looked at it for a few seconds, before looking to Kurt, and then back to the model cake. He smiled, a little confused by the offer. 'Thanks, Kurt.' Kurt grinned at him and motioned for Burt to eat it, and his father held the little cupcake to his mouth and pretended to nibble. Kurt, satisfied with the action, smiled and busied himself with the tea.

Whilst Burt was eyeing up the_ real _food on offer, Kurt had been pouring tea into the minute cups. It was a herbal blend, some kind of blackcurrant with an unknown mint addition. It smelt wonderful, and Kurt couldn't help inhaling the scent.

Burt had to admit, tea parties weren't his... cup of tea. But anything Kurt wanted, he got. Not that he was spoilt, but Burt would have given his son the world if he could afford to.

Kurt's face was lit up by the streams of warm sunlight that crept through the clouds and struck his face. His eyes glistened as he smiled at his father—the ghost of something lost long ago etched in that glasz gaze. The boy's acceptance of everything around him never failed to tug at Burt's heartstrings. He loved Kurt _no matter what_, whether Kurt had friends or no friends, whether he liked girls or boys, whether he preferred tea to a football game. He was Burt's son, and _nobody_ would ever get in the way of that.

This was one of the simpler days, one of those days that Burt didn't have to worry about the bills because they'd been payed for the month, and could just be enjoyed in the company of a father and his son. They weren't the same though—the tea-parties—they hadn't been right for about two years. But both Burt and Kurt were proud of each other for how they had handled the loss of a mother and a wife.

A tiny cup of tea was passed across the table and into Burt's hand, which looked huge compared to the minute tea-cup. He went to take a gulp, lifting the cup to his lips, gripped tightly in his fist, but Kurt stopped him.

'_That's not how you drink tea, dad_!' He exclaimed, and Burt lowered the drink. A blackcurrant steam rose from the liquid in the cup and the smell was soothing, vaguely reminding the pair of an old perfume from somewhere. Kurt made a sipping action, holding out his little finger delicately and indicating for Burt to do the same. The father laughed and turned his nose up a little, pulling a '_posh_' face and taking a sip, pinky extended. Kurt giggled slightly and nodded, encouraging his father, who had to admit, _the tea was pretty good_.

Kurt suddenly had that feeling that they were being watched, a feeling he had grown accustomed to over the past two years—his classmates were prone to stare at him as he walked by, either because they knew he didn't have a mother or he had worn an Alexander McQueen new collection scarf to school that day. People were often less than impressed by his choice in clothes and how he acted, which seemed unfair to the ten year old, but Burt had assured him that anybody who couldn't accept him wasn't worth his time.

He thought he saw somebody out of the corner of his eye, standing in the doorway that led back into the house. A glimpse of a flowing dress, a flash of dark, curled hair. His eyes flickered to the doorway but there was nobody there, no matter how many times he blinked and rubbed his eyes, _there was nobody there_.


End file.
